Euphoria
by GreenGoldGhost
Summary: Set in Purge: Anarchy. What happens when you come face to face with some masks, facepaint and skateboards?


** ~PROLOGUE~**

It was almost Euphoric.

Yeah, that's the right word. The type of word that isn't just said blandly in everyday conversation, but a word that you use to get a certain reaction out of your peers when you bring up a conversation topic, or one that pushes boundaries and might be controversial. You see the glint of recognition in their eyes because the English dictionary did its job in putting a label on a familiar feeling that we all let dance upon our heart from time to time.

I nodded subtly to myself. That's it.

Sometimes that feeling allows you to be bigger than yourself. Sparking through the core of your inner being, it relinquishes your soul and spits it back out so the cold, bitter truth of an atmosphere doesn't deter you one bit.

I genuinely starve for that feeling.

Holding the rusty railing that leads to the tunnels splattered with graffiti on the walls, I jump two steps each time to get down faster.

I gently tug the forest green beanie to a lower position on my pale forehead.

Being a normally reserved occupant in daily activities and situations of day to day life, something is programmed into me to feel physically drained in social situations. Direct eye contact from an audience can turn me into a withering mess, babbling and jumbling sentences until they are barely even comprehensive. I'm ashamed. It's almost as if I'm stringing along my pride behind me, a barely there string dangling in a web at my feet, just waiting to be sheared off with an axe by anyone who wanted to.

I realize that my self-esteem is not high, it's so low that it's embarrassing, frankly.

I hate the way my voice sounds. The way it shakes in moments when attention is directed towards me.

The way I'm a wallflower to the sound of laughter and amusement.

The way I can never truly be myself because of the constant need to overanalyze and overthink everything.

Fantasies are a different story altogether though.

I long to be a leader in my dreams. My voice commanding and powerful. Someone just short of taking control over the way people look at things. A prideful, ambitious, strong figure that you would look for guidance and reason in, a protector in doubt and misery.

I snort at my silliness.

As I glide across the smooth pavement of the downtown tunnels, the scent of a nearby hotdog stand wafts through the air, invading my nostrils.

I walk towards it, hands fishing in my jean pocket for some dollar bills.

Being an avid film watcher, my imagination can be dangerous and plant laughable scenarios in my head. I better stop or my parents will begin to question my sanity. But, I need to truly conquer my fear. Perhaps I'm a shell of what I'm truly capable of.

The soles of my beaten-up red tennis shoes scrape along a fresh patch of gravel. An orange gleam of the sunset surrounds me in an afterglow. It's going to be dark soon. I quickly quicken my pace, taking view of a man flipping some sausages, burgers and hotdogs alike. The burner hissed sporadically.

Nearing the metallic hotdog stand, the man had his back to me, crouching to pick up a package of napkins. Clad in an unusual shirt that I arched my eyebrow at. An upside down cross traveled against the length of his spine. The words "Hunt!" scrolled in black letters across his lower back. I frown. Of course..

I notice how eye-catching the little sign above the stand is.

Decked out in neon yellow with a red trimming it read "Fresh for The Purge! Get 'em while their hot."

Suddenly I felt nauseous.

I halted centimeters away from the stand. A cold chill passed through me, and I rubbed viciously at my arms.

Could I really be that much of an idiot?

I'm so alien to what's happening around me most of the time that I've completely forgotten the most adrenalized death show known to mankind is happening tonight.

Christ.

Ignoring my gut feeling of hunger that consumed me before, a newfound emotion known as shock has taken its place.

The reddish skies of the sunset also seem to spite me, because with this knowledge now in place, the rock the sun was hovering over seems to swallow it in ominious glee.

The sky is getting closer and closer to pitch black, so much so that I can no longer see my shadow on the wall of the tunnel.

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth.

Right.. This isn't a problem. Now that I ponder about it, There's still an hour left.. Don't panic, there may be a way to make it back to the house if I -

...

What.

..

Silence.

... I thought I heard-

A warm gloved hand roughly grasps my elbow

... !

A choked gasp threatens to spill from my throat

Goosebumps spread over my skin.

Well, here I am..

Face to face with a white porcelain mask, decorated with disturbing symbols on the front.

Expressionless pools of obsidian eyes narrow at me.

The skinny wheels of a skateboard they're clutching scrape against my knee.

"Where ya going, kid?"


End file.
